#meth cook

“Squirrel, this is getting to be something we can’t deal with,” Harb says.  “You need to make some attempt to communicate.  Sign language.  When I find you standing under the neon, alone, after your shift, when you don’t need to be here, and I ask you why that is, maybe you do something?  Are you waiting for a ride?  Tap your watch or something.”  She shows him her unadorned wrist.  “Well, where a watch ought to be, Squirrel, damn it.  You waiting for the bus?  Nod for me, huh?”